She tried her best to tune it all out. This was not a junior varsity track meet. I am going to finish this race. I am going to win. I don’t care how much it hurts. She focused on a light far ahead on the path that was growing brighter as she approached. Can that be the end of the path already? Am I about to come out at the volcano?
Irene had no idea how far she had come, but from her view above the canopy it seemed very unlikely that she was about to emerge at the side of the volcano. She wiped a bit of slobber that had collected at the side of her mouth and she kept running, ignoring her pain and focusing on the light drawing ever closer. I’m not going to lose. I’m going to see my friends, my family, again.
She repeated these sentences to herself over and over as she compelled her legs forward. She told her lungs there was no option other than to continue to pump oxygen, or whatever she was breathing, into her system.
Her mantra appeared to be working. Her body was listening. The pain, though still there, faded into the background as she focused on the light. She constantly reminded herself to save some of her strength for what was likely going to be a race of many miles. She needed to push herself, but she also needed to keep running as long as it took to finish.
Her feet rose and fell, her boots crunching lightly on the surface of the path. After several minutes she smiled to herself as the sweat rolled down her face. I’m doing it!
She had no way to tell how far she had already run, but she continued in this fashion for several more minutes—slowly growing more and more comfortable. Her success lulled her into a false sense of security, which fled when the boot on her right foot tripped on something and she found herself flailing, trying to stay upright, while her momentum carried her toward the exposed roots of a tree whose trunk emanated a silver, glowing sheen.
She had quit the track team after her failed attempt to run the 440—which was the last time she could remember commanding her body to run as fast as it possibly could. As painful as that memory was, she had never taken a fall when running.
Irene’s brain wrestled with the shock of understanding that she was indeed running nearly full-speed, and she was definitely about to fall. Her brain sent commands to her arms to try and counterbalance her momentum. It told her back to straighten and her legs to stop flailing.
None of this worked, and Irene screamed as loudly and passionately as she ever had in her short life as she ran full-speed into the spar of a huge root coming from the trunk now directly in front of her. The root was two feet wide where it contacted the ground but tapered down to something more like six inches wide five feet up, which is where Irene’s forehead smacked directly into it, her arms still flailing uselessly at her sides, trying to find balance she would not achieve.
Her scream stopped when her head hit the root with a horrific “pop,” by far the loudest noise on the otherwise still, quiet forest floor. She lost all ability to stand, and slowly slumped to the ground with her legs still on the path and her upper body slumped against the base of the root. Irene was not aware of her scream, or the forest, but was instead looking at a small group of stars that seemed to be marching in a circle above her. “Huh, I thought that only happened in cartoons. And where am I?” The lump in the middle of her forehead had already magically appeared. It stuck out farther than her nose, took up most of the space below her hairline, and was coated in a faint, shimmery silver glow.
The marching stars began to fade and Irene, now slumped in a pile at the base of the root, began to cry. She reached for her forehead and recoiled at what her hand found there. The sobs started at her toes, and she retched them out as she fumbled around her. Her mind was not working. Trying to form a thought was like trying to catch a greased pig. She felt like she was watching herself from a distance—but the soundtrack playing in her head did not match what her eyes conveyed. Her sobs kept pouring out as her hands pushed and pulled beside her on the ground. It did not help her regain her grasp on reality that she remained surrounded by an endless series of glowing tree trunks in the otherwise dark, strangely quiet world beneath the towering canopy.
Eventually she managed to get onto her hands and knees, her long, sweaty hair falling to the ground between her elbows, and the sobs slowed. Her head ached, tears flowed from the corners of her eyes, and her stomach rolled in waves of nausea.
She remained in that position for some time before the worm of a thought wriggled through her damaged brain. Still quite groggy, she tried to grab the thought, pin it down. It, and her concussed brain, resisted, but eventually, she managed to concentrate long enough to grasp the idea. She pushed herself up such that her butt rested on the backs of her hiking shoes and she used her hand to balance herself against the giant root.
The Game! I am losing!
Fighting back more nausea, struggling to keep her now over-sized head from tipping, she gamely rose to her feet.
I’m not going to lose. I’m going to see everyone again.
She wiped her hair out of her eyes, wincing as her hand contacted the huge lump on her forehead, and took a tentative step back toward the middle of the path. Her other hand was still touching the root, which was the only reason she did not fall. The dark world spun in front of her, and she recognized that she was hurt. Deeply, badly hurt. Even if she could make it back to the path, she had little chance of walking, much less running, to the volcano.
Reverting to hindsight, she refused to acknowledge her situation and instead questioned everything that had come before. Should I have walked—not run? Why was I running so fast? Why did I have to trip?
The tears restarted, and she did not bother to wipe them away. Instead she took another step, immediately lost her balance, and again fell. This time her already damaged head hit the ground within the path and she again saw the dancing, circling stars. She lifted her head, her face now covered in dirt where the tears had acted like glue, and she gathered herself.
“I’m not going to lose. I’m going to see my friends again.” She said this aloud, announcing her intentions to the forest.
She tried to stand, failed, and then began crawling slowly down the path. Crawling felt better, easier, primarily because she did not have to try and keep her balance. Covered in dirt, slobber and tears, she raised her head just enough to see immediately in front of her and continued to drag her knees along to match the efforts of her hands.
Irene continued along in this fashion. Every inch of progress down the path came at a terrific, painful cost. The skin on her knees had already been scraped off but such was her drive, and her confusion, that she did not even feel it. Her determination was joined by a sadness that came with the realization that she was, in fact, going to lose. Dawa ran like a gazelle. Even if the path he had chosen turned out to be longer, there was no way she was going to beat him in a footrace.
She grimaced, dislodging a bit of dirt, and was shocked to find that her head no longer hurt. She stopped crawling and reached up, gingerly touching the spot where she expected the lump to be. Her fingers found only air and she sat up, without nausea, and pressed her fingers against her forehead, which was once again smooth, flat.
She quickly stood, without incident, and found that she now felt better than she had ever felt in her life. She ran her hands across her face and up and down her torso, trying to confirm that she was indeed okay. She was.
With no time to waste on wondering how or why, she jogged a few steps forward to confirm that her body and all its parts were working, and she tried to calm her thoughts. It did not matter that she did not understand how she had been healed. The only thing that mattered was that she gathered herself to finish the race as quickly as she could—without injuring herself. She wiped sweat from her brow and flexed her leg muscles when Malcolm’s voice boomed in her head.
“You may stop, Irene. You have won.”
Irene stopped, then spun around, trying to find the body that went with the voice. All she saw were the glistening tree trunks.
Talking to someone who
is not actually there is normally a sign of madness, and Irene again touched the spot on her forehead. Again, finding nothing, she remembered where she was, what she was doing, and the fact that Malcolm’s disembodied voice had given them instructions in the clearing. Her life was, for better or worse, full of madness. Lacking a better idea, she focused her attention on the glowing silver trunk of the tree she had collided with and asked, “How? How could I win when all I did was knock myself unconscious on a tree?”
Malcolm’s voice chuckled. “Yes, that was quite a fall but, to your credit, you did get back up. Had you given up, this trial would have been declared a draw.”
Irene did not know what to say to that, so she continued to stare at the tree, waiting for the answer to her question.
“Your fall is, in fact, the source of your victory,” Malcolm stated coolly. “Dawa heard your screams from his path, which turns and comes quite close in this portion of the trail, and he came to your aid.”
A sickening feeling returned to Irene’s stomach. “What happened to him?”
“He fell into a ravine that was largely hidden from view.”
“And?” she prodded.
“His injuries, particularly to his neck, would have terminated this form of his life. He is being held in stasis pending the final results of the Game. Should his team win he will be healed, regain his form and return to his former life. If not…”
Irene felt those cold words run down her spine. Dawa, who would no doubt have beaten her, had abandoned the race to help her, and died. Why would he forsake his friends for me? He didn’t know me. The only thing he knew about me was that I was competing against him, and the free will he represented, for the team trying to replace free will with absolute authoritarian rule—which I don’t even believe in.
“The ‘why’ does not matter now, child, it is done.”
She gritted her teeth and snapped, “It DOES matter to me! Dawa died trying to help me. That HAS to matter!”
With no emotion, Malcolm replied, “Everything passes, child, many times for no reason at all.”
She started to argue when Malcolm interrupted. “You have won, Irene. You will be placed in holding while the other trials are conducted. If your team prevails I shall see you one last time. If not, I wish you well in all your future forms.”
Irene’s mouth opened to reply, then her entire body dissolved into a series of small sparks that slowly sank into the forest floor before disappearing completely.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN: Matt
Peter sat quietly with the others on his team, Orb hovering near him. Irene had only been gone for a minute or two, but it felt like an eternity.
Where is she? What kind of test is she going to have to endure? Does she have a chance against the monk?
Peter looked over and saw Jenny, Eli and Matt also lost in their own thoughts. The wall behind them was solid red, and then began falling away in favor of the color blue. The colors framed their faces as they reflected their swirling, conflicted emotions.
Malcolm, who had stood completely still between the two teams, pulled at his mustache and then clapped his hands.
“The test has ended in victory for Team Orb.”
Cube and Orb both pulsed. Peter watched as the members of the opposing team huddled and muttered among themselves, throwing occasional stares in their direction. Eli and Jenny hugged one another, then reached out to try to pull Peter in to their grasp. Peter, like Matt, was still trying to process the news, and what it meant.
Peter looked past his brother and Jenny and caught Matt’s eye. Matt nodded in return, then smiled weakly out of the corner of one side of his mouth. Peter did not understand Matt’s reaction, until Matt stood and asked, “Malcolm, where is Irene now?”
“She and Dawa are in separate holding areas awaiting the final outcome of the Game.”
Matt thought about Irene, trapped in some sort of stasis. Can she feel loneliness? Can she feel anything?
“If I go to this holding area, will I be able to speak to her?” Matt asked.
Malcolm pulled again at his mustache. “The form there is…different. You would not be able to speak in the way in which you are accustomed, but at some level you would be able to communicate.”
Jigme and the others muttered among themselves again. Peter wondered at how little he could understand of their conversations, even though Malcolm had promised that everyone would be able to understand one another.
“Then I go next,” Matt declared.
Eli and Jenny stopped hugging one another long enough to turn and stare at Matt. Peter did the same.
Matt turned and said, in a softer tone, “I’m not going to let her sit out there all alone. I’m going to her.”
Matt was speaking to Peter, their declared leader, but it was clear that he was not asking for permission. He was telling everyone what came next. Peter saw the determination in Matt’s eyes and realized that there was no point in arguing. Everyone on the team was going to take their turn before him, and Matt had the most motivation to win since he was the closest to Irene. Peter nodded slightly to Matt, then turned to Malcolm.
“Matt will go next for our team,” Peter declared.
“Actually,” Malcolm declared, “It is your opponent’s turn to select the player. Jigme, have you selected your player?”
Jigme nodded and then turned to the man two positions down from him. The man stood, bowed slightly to his teammates, and then faced Peter. Peter saw his first, hasty perception had been wrong. There were definitely differences in appearance within the group of monks. This man had numerous wrinkles around the eyes that suggested he was the oldest. Unlike Dawa, whose eyes had blazed strength, this man’s eyes seemed a bit sad, world-weary.
“Jetsun has been chosen,” declared Malcolm. “Jetsun, whom do you pick as your opponent?”
Matt, who had remained standing, locked eyes with Jetsun. For a moment everyone else in the odd room stopped breathing and watched the staring contest between the teenager and the older monk. Finally, Jetsun dipped his head slightly and then pointed at Matt, who grinned without joy and bowed in return.
“Very well, Jetsun will face Matthew in the second trial,” Malcolm announced. “Is everyone ready?”
Both Matthew and Jetsun exchanged quick glances with their respective teammates and found that there was nothing else productive to say.
“Good luck,” whispered Eli. Peter and Jenny did the same, as did Jetsun’s teammates across the room. Peter felt sick to his stomach, and then felt even worse when he understood that he was likely going to have to repeat this process with all his friends, and his brother.
Malcolm nodded, and said, “We begin the second trial.”
Matt heard Malcolm’s hands clap, and then everything went dark.
When Matt’s vision returned, he found himself in an immense chamber. He assumed there was a ceiling, but if one existed it was too far above in the darkness to see it. The dingy walls were punctuated with large windows that revealed a cloudy, gray world outside. Small beams of dim light came through those windows, alternately illuminating or darkening portions of the chamber.
Matt saw Jetsun standing at the other end of the chamber. There was not sufficient light for Matt to clearly see Jetsun’s face, but there was no obvious sign that his opponent felt any emotion about his change of scenery.
On the floor between the two players was an enormous dark rectangle. Matt gingerly took a step forward, fearing the dark spot might be a hole. As he drew closer the darkness receded and Matt began to see a large, brilliant expanse of blue and green. Matt initially thought he was looking at a map. He bent down and stared more closely and saw that it was not a two-dimensional map but instead a three-dimensional replica of a shoreline and a vast expanse of ocean.
Matt’s eyes opened wider and his nostrils twitched as he felt the air pushing the waves towards the shoreline to his left. He tasted salt on his lips.
Activity on that shoreline caught Matt’s eye and he w
alked along the perimeter of the living display, staring at the sprawling shoreline and what appeared to be a dense jungle behind it. As he drew closer he saw a large, impossibly round structure. He stepped closer still, leaned down and found he was staring at a collection of large, stone blocks that had been cut, moved and smoothed into a perfect circle. Suspended in mid-air above this circle was a large, glowing orb.
Something odd—a movement akin to a snake slowly sliding across the floor—caught Matt’s eye. He leaned farther down and saw that what at first appeared to be a line on this “map” was instead a long, moving row of tiny humans clad in rags hauling baskets and other containers into a large entrance in the side of the stone circle. Matt took a step back when a long, skinny red line shot out from the orb and struck several of the figures. Matt could not be sure, but he felt like he heard tiny shrieks of pain from the figures—almost like someone was using a tiny whip on a mouse. The speed of the figures immediately increased, and they marched quickly towards the opening. Matt realized that several minutes had gone by and wondered if Malcolm was going to appear to explain what he was seeing. He stood and looked all around the chamber, which now glowed from the bright lights of the replica—if that was what it was. He saw only Jetsun bent down at the other end of the replica studying what Matt saw as a blue expanse of open water.
“Malcolm?” Matt asked as he continued to look around. “What is this? Where are we?”
Malcolm’s voice resonated in the chamber. “This is another world where absolute authority reigns.”
“Where are you?”
“My presence is here to help explain this trial, but I have no physical form where you are.”
Matt spun around one more time, still having trouble understanding. He stared again at the tiny lines of figures marching in and out of the giant circle.
“Are those real people?”
“They are different from your species in several ways but, yes. Everything you see here is real. Everything you see here is happening in real time for those involved. The version of Orb present here is identical to the version you know—though this Orb is in complete control of this civilization.”
The Promise of the Orb Page 19
